Monday

The Dog Rambler E-diary

and 05
September 2011
Walk

Hartside Hill and Clints Hill, Scottish Borders Dylan, Jolie, Lucas, Maggie, Solo, Tim

Length

6 miles

Dogs on walk

The twin hills of Hartside Hill and Clints Hill rose gently before us, a slight dip separating them. Hartside Hill cloaked in its thick coat of trees part of an extensively planted pine forest. Its partner Clints Hill different. Open moorland looking a little cold and bleak under the ominously clouding sky. Some of the clouds rising in great columns climbing high into the sky. Turning from a fluffy white to a threatening angry grey and black. With one eye on the weather we set off along the track toward the forest and its winding route cutting casually up the slope of Hartside Hill. Jolie was immediately off down the track so full of energy. She caught the others by surprise and was on her own. She stopped, looked back. Thought about it and came bounding back. Leaping into the air and landing right in front of Lucas. That was enough and he chased off after her back along the track with Tim gallantly pushing himself along behind them. Nearing the gate we had to wait for Dylan. Who recently has taken to moseying quite slowly, sticking his head deep into the grass to get the fullness of the scents. As we waited Maggie and Solo stole off into the stream passing under the track, their splashing sounds giving away their supposedly surreptitious foray.

Through the gate and the path cut right, but hold on someone was missing. Somehow Maggie and Tim had failed to get through the gate because of one last dip in the stream. Reunited we pressed on. Ahead of us on the hillside, towering above the mature trees, seven wind turbines rose white and majestic. Each of their three bladed arms turning slowly in the mild breeze. Like the hands of clocks, counting down time. Between the hillsides coat of trees the track had a scarf of heather. Ribboning along on either side pulsating with purple against the deep tweed colours of the stems and leaves. Into it ran Jolie, Lucas and Tim and then back onto and across the track. As they began to run along the track Dylan and Solo joined them. But as they swung off again Dylan kept on going to head the walk and stay there. Solo slowed down again until caught by Maggie who he meandered along with. Climbing higher the distant hills came into view, blueish and pale in the hazy light as the sun fought against the semi blanket of cloud. In the fields below the cows, horses and sheep were mere spots but the occasional lowing and bleating drifting on the air reminded us of their true size. Atop of Hartside Hill stands a tall communications mast. A skeleton structure of latticed metal converging to almost a point at its top as though it were bones waiting to be clothed in flesh. Its electronic equipment of dishes and aerials humming almost imperceptibly, its heartbeat. Jolie ran beyond it into the boggy hummocks of grass. I called her in case of deer. I had seen them once here, nestling in the grass, quite some time ago. Until we pitched up and spooked them away. So you never know. There were not any today. We reached the trig point marking the true top of the hill, almost hidden in the trees. We were not finished with the hill yet and returned to the track to follow it round the other side of the hill to a natural turning point. We headed back until we could cut off onto Clints Hill. Bare compared to Hartside Hill and with a smaller almost truncated mast. Beside it an ancient cairn. Clashing modernity with lost history. Without the trees we were afforded wide uninterrupted views. Of no interest to the dogs who relished getting back onto the wooded track where Maggie sprung to life leading Jolie on a chase down the track. Without doubt she can go faster downhill. But she was soon panting and left Tim to

take up the chase. However, he was beaten as Jolie ploughed into some deep heather leaving him marooned half sunk like a capsized rowing boats. Jolie found a stick and Tim swam out of the heather to tug at it with her. By now Lucas was just behind me and no amount of encouragement could persuade him to go ahead and join the games. He was happy just like Dylan waiting some way ahead for us to catch up. We did, by the time we reached the gate again. In a less splayed out group we arrived back at the car able to look to our left to see the trace of our walk climbing up the hills. Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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Nick Fletcher The Dog Rambler 9 Links Street Musselburgh East Lothian EH21 6JL

www.thedogrambler.com nick@thedogrambler.com t. 0131 665 8843 or 0781 551 6765

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